Jar of Hearts
by naturally morbid
Summary: AU. Hermione thought all there was to life was school, until she met Scabior. He soon shows her that not all of life can come from textbooks, but at how high a price? He is guarding a gruesome secret and Hermione has to figure out a way to save them both.
1. Chapter 1 : First Impressions

**Author's Note: **So okay, I think I have to many unfinished fics up here, especially Harry Potter ones, but this one was too good to pass up! I'll try not to waffle on though so with the note.

Note 1) This is a completely AU fic. As in, they're not wizards. There is no Hogwarts. Magic is limited to one or two things that fit in with the plot line and will be explained later. As in, they know each other, but their relationships have been altered somewhat to suit the storyline and my own purposes. I tried to make them as parallel and as close to their usual counterparts as possible!

Note 2) College fic, sort of. But that's not exactly the focus.

Note 3) Sorry for anything in advance!I had a good friend (AshTonks) read it for me in advance and we both love the idea. Please, however, critique not flame. There is a big difference.

References: Title is from a popular song of the same name, the artist of which, I can't remember her name! Blast my crappish memory sometimes. However, the title has a lot to do with the plot in a sort of literal and twisted way. However, if I made mistakes (American sorry haha) please point them out to me!

The first three quotes that appear in the first part are as follows:

(Quote 1 is from Robert Maynard Hutchins)

(Quote 2 is from Walker Percy)

(Quote 3 is from Oscar Wilde, "The Critic as Artist," 1890)

**Summary: **AU. Hermione Granger thought all there was to life was school, until she met Scabior. He soon shows her that not all of life can come from textbooks, but at how high a price? He is guarding a gruesome secret and Hermione has to figure out a way to save both of them before it is too late.

**Content Rating: **M for later stuff.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or the associated characters. I do not own the title of the fic. I do not own the quotes used in this chapter. No money was made from the writing of this fic.

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Jar of Hearts

Chapter 1: First Impressions

It was once said that "The object of education is to prepare the young to educate themselves throughout their lives." However, it has also been said that "You can get all A's and still flunk life."

I was one of those people, whom those quotes were written for.

School was everything to me.

Before I met _him_ anyway.

Then I understood what Oscar Wilde meant when he said "Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing worth knowing can be taught."

Education means nothing without experience…

X

Hermione was not fond of pubs. In fact, she wasn't sure exactly why she was in the pub, except that some friends had dragged her from what was sure to be a quiet Friday night in with her books, her comforting reading chair, and a warm cappuccino.

It was loud for starters. An obnoxious band was playing the small stage. It seemed their intent was to see who could play the loudest, not necessarily the best amongst themselves. She couldn't distinguish real words being sung. Her ears promptly protested.

The place had its own sort of noxious perfume. The heavy toxic scent of cheap cigarettes permeated the air, mixed with stale ale, and years of sweat and grime. She feared touching any available surface with her bare skin, thus resolving to keep her gloves on, despite the stuffy atmosphere.

If it hadn't been for the promise of meeting her younger roommate, Ginny Weasley's brother, Hermione might not have left at all. Ginny had been goading Hermione along for weeks now, that her brother was just the right sort of mate for her, and that a good snog would straighten them out.

How could Hermione resist?

She had smiled politely and nodded that she would accompany them on their weekly scrimmage to the pub that Ginny's oldest brother, Bill, worked weekends at to "hang out." Hermione wasn't exactly a popular girl.

There was a huge gap between being popular and being known. Hermione was known for her always perfect grades, but that didn't make her popular. In fact, it made her rather unpopular with most of her classmates.

They whispered that it made them look bad. But Hermione couldn't help her intelligence, any more than she could help tame her bushy hair. Knowing the answers and studying was as natural to her as breathing.

She was used to the ridicule of her peers, having lived with it all her life. She had a quite normal childhood, born to normal parents who were both dentists. That alone was enough to alienate her. When she had become a teenager, she had continued her weekend of ritual of extra homework and playing board games with her parents instead of going out on dates.

Hermione wanted a good education, to make something of herself. Shouldn't that be what anyone wanted?

But once she got into University, she realized how much her normal hormones had been lacking. Her first roommate had been an upperclassman who moved out not long after her arrival. She spent much of her first year alone and focused. If it had not been for her one lone friend, Harry Potter, she might not have had any contact with anyone else all year long.

Harry Potter was one of those quietly popular students. Everyone knew something about him, as his parents had been the victims of a terrible murderous rampage when he was born. He never let that stop him though. He lived with his aunt's family most of his life, until he could legally move out. He didn't speak of the abuse at home, though everyone probably knew about it.

Instead, he excelled at sports and made a name for himself that way, just like his father had before him. Hermione's brilliance had helped him when they were kids and they kept contact then. She was still amazed they could get along so well, even when they were so different. It was even more surprising that he had made into the same University as her, when he had been so unsure of what to do with his life.

But she was thankful for it, none the less.

Ginny had moved in at the beginning of Hermione's second year of college; the difference in their personalities and goals was like night and day. Hermione liked that though. Ginny introduced her to things she hadn't known about before, always trying to include her in activities. Hermione was grateful for the invitations, even if she didn't make good on them very often. In turn, Hermione introduced her to Harry Potter, and the two hit it off right away.

Hermione guessed, as she tried to avoid being pressed against burly pub goers, that Ginny was trying to return the favor.

"Hermione! There you are!" Harry yelled across the way. She could see Ginny sitting beside him in a booth, as well as a bunch of ginger-haired boys she wasn't exactly familiar with. She tried to wave back, but her arm was pinned to her side by another patron.

Instead, she pressed on, hoping to reach the table before something unfortunate happened. She fell onto the slick cushions beside a red head that appeared to be about the same age.

"I was scared you would back out on us," Ginny teased. Hermione didn't add that she nearly had.

"Not tonight," she smiled. The boy beside her cleared his throat.

"Um 'ermione, this is my older brother, Ron." She turned enough to offer her hand. His hair was a little shaggy, like it was due for a trim soon, but his eyes were warm and he grinned at her as he stuck out his hand. He took in her average appearance with more interest than most men.

"Pleasure to meet you," she said.

"Yeah, same 'ere." His shake was brief but firm. Hermione felt awkward though.

"Have I seen you around campus before?"

"Probably," he shrugged. "I study with 'arry."

"Oh, I see," she nodded. So far this wasn't turning out well. First impressions were rarely a good measure of whether you would like a person though.

"Get you something to drink?"

"No thanks. I'm not much of a drinker," she told him honestly.

"Just some water then?" She didn't want to be rude, but Hermione wasn't sure that she wanted even a glass of water from the taps of this place.

"Uh sure."

"Be right back then." He stepped out the other side of the booth and headed for the bar.

"So what do you think of 'im?" Ginny asked, though any conversation being held in that dive was at a yell, as she leaned across the table.

"I don't know," Hermione shrugged, being honest. He seemed okay, but already she doubted they would have much in common.

Harry stopped nursing his drink enough to tell her, "Come on Hermione, you could do with some fun in your life. It's all books." He made a valid point, but Hermione wasn't sure her idea of fun was this Friday night. She could clearly see what his idea of fun was with Ginny as they shared an intimate kiss.

She felt awkward and turned her eyes to her surroundings, though the interior was almost too dark to make anything of. One of the ginger-haired men at the table next to her caught her eye and promptly took Ron's spot. She guessed they were part of his family.

"Is this the bookworm then?" he yelled at Ginny.

"Don't call 'er that Fred, or is it George?" Ginny yelled back at him.

"Alright, I'm cutting you off," he told her with a laugh. "Already 'ad one drink too many if you can't tell us apart." An identical boy joined him a moment later.

"So you would be Ginny's wormy friend then?" the other one asked.

"Don't call 'er that," Ginny insisted on Hermione's behalf. "'ermione these are my brothers, Fred and George."

"Nice to meet you," she nodded as she thrust out her hand. She immediately wished she hadn't, as the twin that took it had some sort of shocker device in his palm. She shrieked and took her hand back as soon as possible.

"Oy, what are you lot doing to 'er?" Ron demanded as he stormed over to them.

"Just playing," one started, "a prank," the other finished as they jumped out of the booth and headed back to their own table. Hermione's hand felt like it was going to go numb and fall off for a few seconds.

"I'm sorry about them," Ron told her as he handed her the cool glass of water. Out of habit, Hermione reached for it with her right hand, remembering a second too late that it was still tingling from the force of their attack.

The water spilled out of the clear glass, mostly down the front of her body before she slammed it down on the table. The twins laughed harder than they had been moments before as Ron, Harry, and Ginny rushed to find napkins to help wipe up the mess.

"My fault," Hermione told them. "Where is the washroom?" Ginny quickly gave her the directions and offered to accompany her. "No, its okay," she smiled. "I'll be right back." She pressed through the crowds as well as she could, glad for the eventual privacy of the ladies room.

It was as unappealing as the rest of the pub. Hermione was glad that she didn't actually have to go. She grabbed a handful of paper towels and tried to patch herself up as best she could. Her feelings of leaving had only intensified.

Was it fate that her one night out was a disaster? A sign that yes indeed she should have stayed in? Or was it because she had no interest in staying that she was somehow causing these unfortunate events? She had read enough to know that it was possible to cause your own unhappiness.

"No use crying about it now though," she told her reflection in the bathroom mirror. She would just go back to the table, make up some story about having to leave quickly for an emergency, and then return to the dorm.

Hermione finished drying herself off as best she could and then stepped back out into the unfriendly atmosphere.

However, as well minded as her intentions had been, Hermione found after a second of glancing at the table, she didn't care to return the rest of the night. A wavy-haired, bubbling girl had plopped herself into the booth where Hermione had occupied seconds before. Hermione recognized her as Lavender Brown, a nice girl though not quite on her intellectual standards.

It seemed, however, Lavender and Ron were on the same level though as Hermione watched the other her give a firm kiss to his cheek. Her stomach burned with an intensity she didn't know she had and she forgot all about her plan to politely excuse herself from this social disaster.

Instead, she turned and tried to fight her way out of the pub before anyone noticed and tried to stop her. It wasn't like she was terribly interested in Ron; she wasn't. It was more the principle of the thing. Already he was allowing another girl to get so close when he was supposed to be waiting on Hermione to return.

Of course, maybe Hermione had jumped to conclusions a bit. She didn't try to talk herself out of heading for the door though. Ron was giving her all the excuse to leave that she needed. Ginny wouldn't be back until late, if she came back at all, and she would be drunk as a skunk if she did.

It was better to leave before anyone noticed. Her Jane Austen complete works were waiting for her back at the dorm for a bit of light bed time reading.

What Hermione didn't plan on, was being thrust against the bar and into a complete stranger. While this occurrence alone is not much to warrant significance, it just so happened that the man she bumped into, was not ordinary by any means.

"Sorry," Hermione apologized as she dusted herself off. The shortest way, by the bar stools had seemed the best option at the time but in retrospect it actually wasn't. Her eyes took time to notice the type of person she had bumped into.

His clothing was quite mismatched, if she was being nice; second hand and a bit worn if she wasn't being polite. Leather with military, a random scarf, plaid pants, and work boots to top it all off. Some of her classmates loved clothing like that though; that wasn't unusual.

Her eyes traveled up his neck to his chin, where he was in need of a shave; unless that was the style. His dark hair was wild but loosely restrained, which would give one the first impression that he didn't care what it did, except that she could see where a section had been dyed a deep mix of chestnut and crimson.

However, it was his hooded eyes that really grabbed her. They were blue? She couldn't tell if he had rings around them from a lack of sleep or if it was a type of makeup. To her, they seemed pleading but mischievous.

"Hello beautiful," his rough accent rasped through, his clear eyes raking over her appearance like a fine toothed comb, shaking her back to reality. Of all the things though in the pub, he had to be the most repulsive to her; he was forthcoming and uncivilized in a modern way; a punk. She turned her head away, hoping his beastly attentions would be placed on someone else. "Fancy a pint?"

"No thank you," she ground out.

"You look like you could use one," he continued, following her.

"No thank you," she told him again. "I'm not a drinker."

"And what are you then?" he inquired. Suddenly, she wished she wasn't alone. He was quite persistent and the dorm was swiftly too far away. Hermione ignored him, shoving her hands further down in her pockets, hoping for something to threaten him with should he become physical. "Oh, the old silent treatment then, love?"

He laughed as he continued the chase. Hermione was trying to place as many patrons between herself and her follower as possible. She had her phone in an emergency, if she got the chance.

"Your boyfriend not paying any attention to you?"

"He isn't my boyfriend," she snapped. So he had been watching her?

"Of course not," he agreed. She was nearly to the door. Would he dare follow her outside? "He doesn't deserve to be if he acts that way."

"And you could do better?" She paused beside the doorway, turning her neck far enough to see over her shoulder. He was standing a few feet away, an amused smirk gracing his rugged face, as he watched her for a few moments.

"Maybe," he shrugged, taking a step closer. Out of fear and later she would confess to herself, a bit of flattery, her pulse began to race. He sniffed the air, his eyes coming to rest on the exposed part of her neck. He could smell the faint traces of her perfume in all of this?

"I'm not interested," Hermione told him firmly as she pressed her full weight against the door, hoping to take him by surprise and escape into the night.

"Don't be too sure," he called after her. Every few seconds her eyes darted over her shoulder furtively to be sure that he wasn't lurking in the shadows following along. He wasn't. But somehow she could still feel his sharp gaze lingering on her.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the weather crawled down her spine.

He was just a random stranger, someone she would never see again she rationalized as she crawled under the covers once she got back to her dorm room. But somehow, she felt her life wasn't that simple.

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**Author's End Note: **Watcha think? Too far out there? Just right? Anything else? Do you like it? Should I stop asking questions now? Probably.


	2. Chapter 2: The Empty Man

**Author's Note: **I am most humbled by the feedback and attention this story has been getting! I hope I don't mess anything up!

Thank you to AshTonks for giving me her opinion of this chapter. Thank you to spaceagesuffragette for the advice as well! I'll be keeping it in mind.

Anyway, hope I don't disappoint with this chapter. I wrote it at work (usually working in a library is pretty busy - but today was like a ghost town - what?).

**Some things about this particular chapter:**

1) The primary focus for this chapter is background on Scabior. His role in this story, motivations, etc. So it will probably be a bit weird?

2) Hope the terms of this arrangement aren't too far out there! But this is how I envisioned them (is envisioned a good word?) I also wanted to give it more of twist. Hopefully this wasn't too far out. I always seem to overdo things. I've been reading too much horror/sci-fi stuff again I think, like Souless or Godchild, as well as listening to far too much Abney Park and Voltaire.

3) Other than the first two, I don't want to say anymore for fear it will ruin everything. Well, except for him smoking. An author I like on deviantart was the first person I've read that featured it; though I can totally see him doing it. Please enjoy! Remember critique not flames. There is a difference. Only you can prevent forest fires!

Alright, enough of me.

**Warnings for this chapter: **Mentions of murder? Fenrir? Blood? I didn't want to get super graphic like I tend to do...

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter or its associated characters. I do not own the title of the fic. No money is made from this.

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**Chapter Two: **The Empty Man

For Scabior, life wasn't a big deal. It wasn't the best deal ever, but it surely wasn't a big one either.

He just couldn't see what all the fuss was about to excel at something you hated. So he didn't. Life was short. You had to keep moving to get what you wanted out of it.

He lit a cigarette, one of the last few in his pack, taking a long drag before watching the smoke from his mouth curl into the air. There was something so marvelously sensual about the way it wound through the morning chill, like a womanly fog.

These quiet moments alone were some of his favorite. He could be nothing, just part of the background; he was nothing special, just another tick in the clock of the universe.

Until that precious silence was broken by the muffled scream of his young captive.

"Love, I've told you before," he sighed turning his heavy gaze on her, "and I won't say it again. Be quiet." Scabior had perfected his special brand of fear over the years with his gift. He never had to raise his voice, make any frightening gestures, or even change his deadpan expression.

Everything conscious or otherwise reflected in his eyes. It was both a blessing and a curse. He had read it once, in one of those posh books, about the eyes being the window to the soul, or was it the heart, or even the stomach?

It would be nice to have a window to the heart and soul, he mused as he continued smoking and ignoring the frightened young woman at his feet, if he had a heart and soul.

Sure his present emotions were quite visible, sometimes his desires, but his morals? No, he didn't have any lasting ones. He just did the things that suited him at the moment. Everything inside were like butterflies, flitting in and out as they chose. Being fond of things was not the same thing as loving them.

You liked something for a time, until something else took over; a new obsession.

But that would change once his deal with the devil was complete.

It was taking forever to fill his part of the bargain though, because of the way he was built. If he felt like working on the curse, then he did. If he didn't, then he didn't. Often times though, it was hard to find the specific girls needed. Sometimes, he couldn't get the particular one he needed,, so he had to wait on a replacement.

Scabior had taken years trying to pick the right ingredients for the mix, he just needed one more.

His heavy burden had started with his birth, his father making a deal with the devil to marry Scabior's mother. Because his father was cunning, a selfish, brute, instead of selling his own soul, he had promised his first born son's heart as payment. The devil hadn't been picky; he probably had a loophole ready for him later.

While Scabior had a physical heart, he was missing the heart and soul function. He couldn't put his heart into anything, because his heart didn't exist. He wasn't capable of true or lasting love. He only liked things. His sense of right or wrong was also skewered because of this.

What an unhappy childhood it had been. When he wasn't in trouble, he was alone, because no one could stand to be around him, even his parents.

Though at first, Scabior didn't notice he was missing something. He couldn't control his impulses well and after a time, he stopped trying. But as he grew older, a great hole tore open somewhere inside of him. What had seemed like a good thing was quickly turning sour.

And so Scabior made his own deal with the devil. If his father could, then there was no reason he couldn't too. Surprisingly, the devil wasn't that hard to contact. Scabior figured it was because his family already had an account with him. In fact, it was more like the devil had come to him instead.

Only the devil didn't want Scabior's help in securing the soul that should have been promised to him the first time. Instead, he wanted a different payment.

"A good heart is made up of different qualities," he had instructed Scabior. "Things that you're lacking." Scabior just shrugged. "Kindness, selflessness, dedication, that sort of rubbish." Scabior sometimes liked those things; he nodded.

"And what has that got to do with me exactly?"

"You'll need those things for a proper heart." So the devil provided Scabior with his own special recipe. "You'll collect the hearts of girls that embody these qualities. I'll even make it easy for you," he had smiled. "The girls will smell and look a little different from all the others." Everyone thought the devil was an ugly son of a gun, but when he smiled, it was hard to see the harm.

"I know you've got a catch," Scabior warned. "There's always a catch." He wasn't going to let the devil outsmart him.

"You're clever aren't you? The catch is that the hearts must be, let's say, stolen." In other words, not freely given. Scabior could steal things. That was something he usually liked. It had to be the literal hearts, just like in a real potion. Nothing else would suffice. They had to be kept in one giant jar too, all proper. When he had_ x_ number of qualities, then he would have his own heart and soul. "Since you're not capable of real love, I don't have to worry about you giving your heart away," the devil had laughed.

"Then you have yourself a deal," Scabior smiled. The devil handed him the list of qualities and the special jar after he had signed a contract in blood. Everything seemed proper enough, like those old timey movies and stories.

All of this leading up to the woman lying at his feet that cold winter morning. She was just quality number whatever, in a long and bloody history. There had been others like her over the years.

He knelt down, studying her terrified features in the pale dawn light, blowing smoke in her direction.

She had been crying, her eyes swollen and red, and her nose running. That was quite unattractive. Scabior never cried. It came with emotions he didn't like, so it never happened. Her clear green eyes reflected him in them.

Scabior wasn't fond of catching the girls for the deed; he had accomplices like Fenrir to do that instead. Fenrir Greyback was watching the proceedings with more amusement than most people would have been comfortable with; He especially liked the scent of blood and fear.

Fenrir had a nasty habit of killing people and eating them; Scabior had witnessed one of his more interesting attacks and saw the potential in the huge, beastly man. They formed a sort of partnership.

Once Scabior managed to build a relationship with the girls, which usually took quite a bit of time, Fenrir would kidnap them. After that, Scabior snatched only the heart and left the rest for Fenrir to enjoy. It was gory, but useful. Other than that, Scabior found Fenrir to be somewhat useless.

The papers and news would wonder where the girls had gone. If forensics found enough left of the girls to identify, they couldn't pin down a suspect based on that evidence alone.

Scabior's victims were so spread out, careful that he couldn't even earn a good nickname from the press, which he would have liked. They always seemed to have the cleverest titles.

He wasn't actually fond of the killing itself, he did like the sense of completion it brought. Killing was too messy.

This particular girl had not been as hard to catch as some of the others. She had fallen for him quite easily. Scabior figured it had something to do with the piece of heart she embodied. It had been great fun playing with her until she fell for him. Good times. She wasn't all that bad to look at. Sort of an average girl by any standards. She smelled wonderful though. He would miss that scent when she died.

"I'm sorry love," Scabior told the present girl as he readied his tools, stubbing the cigarette out with a boot. The sparkling of the stainless steel, the smell of antiseptic used to clean them always called to him on some primal level. Her eyes flashed as hot new tears rolled down her pale cheeks. Scabior pulled the gag from her mouth delighting in the soft whimpers and pleas that tumbled off her lips.

At the first rush of blood, she began screaming with animal abandon, trying to fight free of her bonds. They always screamed in the end. With their remote location of Fenrir's choosing, she could scream all she wanted and no one would hear her. He kept going.

"Just a little more now," Scabior admonished her, as he would a child, his voice frightfully soft. "And then it will all be over."

Fenrir was working himself up into a frenzy and the sun was beginning to wash the land quite well when Scabior finally finished. He had abandoned his usual mismatched outfit for one that could be bloodied and disposed of later in a fire. He was blood-soaked, as he wasn't a surgeon and couldn't be as careful, but his cigarettes were still dry.  
He pulled one out and lit up.

The woman's heart floated in the jar among the others now, like a morbid type of jam. He pulled the list from the back pocket of his pants, where it had been tucked in with his smokes and used the woman's own blood to cross her dominating characteristic off. Just one more.

He cleaned himself off as best as he could, being careful to change the worst of his clothes, so that no one would be suspicious on his way back into the city.

"See you around Fenrir. You know what to do." With that, he gathered his things, still puffing away, and headed back for the transportation to his flat, swaggering all the way.

It wasn't the worst place his could live; the place wasn't a complete shit hole. He earned his keep by flogging things he stole, if that was what he liked doing at the time. Sometimes, he helped gangs find their missing men, or even helped lose them if the mood struck him. That was pretty good money as well a bit of fun; like a dark bounty hunter.

Tomorrow he would resume the hunt for the last girl. Tonight he would treat himself to the pub.

But he never expected to find the last girl he needed in the pub.

Scabior could smell her, time she came in the door. He watched, with hooded eyes, as she tried to fight her way through the crowd to the people she was supposed to be meeting. He knew the bunch of red heads she sat with by reputation only. The one she had been sitting beside slouched up to the bar for drinks.

"Oy, Bill!" Red called across the dingy counter. It was pretty obvious they were related. Scabior sipped his pint quietly and watched.

"What Ron? I'm Ron. I'm busy," the bartender shot back.

"So am I. I've got a date."

"Bout time. What do you need?"

"She just wants water. Give me my usual too." The man obliged him as quickly as he could. Scabior could sympathize with her already; the brew here tasted like piss. He did, however, file the information away that she wasn't drinking this night. It wouldn't hurt to irritate her by asking if she wanted a drink, provided he got the chance. It would make him stand out more in her memory.

He continued watching her from the bar as best he could, even as her night out came tumbling around her ears.

With her scent, he would be able to track her all over the city within a certain time frame. However, it wouldn't hurt to work and play. Scabior decided he would at least make contact with her; establish some sort of existence in her life.

So he confronted her as she was leaving. He didn't believe in fate. He was sure the devil had some manipulation working, otherwise how else would he explain her bumping head first into him?

Intelligent.

The word first came to mind as she tried to get away from him. His blood boiled with the chase though. The last girl. The one he had been searching his whole life for! He would savor the experience.

After she left through the door, Scabior returned to his drink. No sense in leaving it untouched after he had paid for it. He also needed to give her enough of a head start that she wouldn't notice him.

He slunk through the shadows, trailing after the delicious sent that permeated his nasal passages. She was a university student then, he realized as crossed onto the campus boundaries. This was a posh place, not that he knew much about universities. Scabior could tell this was quality though. He continued as far as her dorm.

A challenge then. They were from completely different parts of society.

Scabior wasn't much on book learning himself; part of his curse he figured. Life had to be experienced. You couldn't do that with books.

His prey was close by, a plus. Now he would just have to reel her in. His favorite part. In the place where he felt his soul would have rested however, he felt a strange fleeting twinge. Scabior chalked it up to indigestion from that awful stuff that passed as beer and continued back to his flat.

Sometimes he wondered how he would change once he had his heart and soul. But it was hard to imagine since he had been born without, so he didn't try often.

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**Author's Note: **Too over the top perhaps? A penny for your thoughts?


	3. Chapter 3: Wrath of Fate

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for all the comments, favs, alerts, etc on this story. I am very humbled and I hope I don't disappoint!

Hope everyone had good holidays or is going to. I would have had this uploaded sooner probably, but the holiday came first. So yeah. Anyway, thank you to AshTonks to giving me her opinion on this (as well as pointing out my grievous errors). Hope you enjoy it!

Please remember: This is just fiction, so don't read too much into it. This is a sort of twisted AU. Everything else I say at the beginning of chapters...

The title of the chapter is from a new song by Abney Park. *addicted* And if you're wondering about his motivations and what not, don't worry, we'll be exploring them next chapter again. Happy Holidays!

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, don't own the title, the chapter title, the characters, and no money is made from this.

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Jar of Hearts

Chapter Three: Wrath of Fate

"Oy, where did you get up to last night?" Ginny demanded of Hermione as soon she awoke. Hermione was certainly surprised that Ginny was up so quickly considering how late she had returned the night before. However, it was early afternoon and Ginny had been asleep for hours.

"Something came up," Hermione told her, glancing up from her textbook. It wasn't a lie at all. Lavender Brown had shown herself to be a more apt replacement for company at their table, and then there was that eerie man with the mysterious eyes...

"Like the water incident or the Ron one?" Hermione tried to keep the livid color out of her face. Should she fib? But while she was debating, Ginny continued. "I know Ron might not be much to look at, but e's actually quite shy when it comes to girls."

"Ginny, I appreciate your efforts, honestly I do, but I'm not sure I have time for a boyfriend right now." Ginny studied Hermione hard before she rose from her bed and stretched.

"If you say so," Ginny commented. "Though Ron would like to see you again soon." While Hermione wanted to say no, she couldn't bring herself to do it outright.

"When?"

"This afternoon?" It was Saturday and there wasn't a class for Hermione to scuttle off to. How else would she spend the day then? Reading? Doing homework? Working on her projects? Extra credit? Calling her parents? Hiding in the library?

"ermione Jean Granger! Don't you dare tell me that you 'ave other plans!" Ginny laughed, grabbing one of the fluffy pillows from her bed and tossing it in Hermione's direction.

"But I do." She didn't want to live up to the humiliation of seeing him again and attempting to provide a convincing excuse for her absence.

"And what exactly is that so important?" Time to break out the half-truth.

"I have a study date."

"Study date? With who?"

"This nice boy that I know from one of my classes. Cormac McLaggen." Ginny had never met him, Hermione was sure. Honestly, Hermione wasn't fond of him, but he provided a wonderful pretext. He tended to be a bit of a know-it-all as well as a stalker, and he had a ghastly temper when provoked.

"Never 'eard of 'im," Ginny shrugged as she grabbed things for a shower. "Sure you didn't make 'im up?"

"Positive," Hermione assured her as she gathered some books and bits of her homework together into her fraying satchel. "Look at the time; I've got to be going." She grabbed her coat, as the library was a little ways from their hall.

"Alright, but you don't know what you're missing." Hermione was quite assured she did know; an afternoon of discomfited dialogue between herself and a boy who wasn't an intellectual match for her? Why bother?

She hurried out the door and took off down the hall for the stairs. Normally, people moved out of the halls and into a flat after their first year. But Hermione hadn't known who to rent with so they had let her stay on. Maybe after this year, she and Ginny could at least rent a place together.

She stepped out into the zesty sunshine, caught between feeling warm and freezing. All the walkways were fairly clear of snow and it would be a while yet before it melted fully on the rest of the grounds. Summer break would see her back at home with her parents, but that was months away yet.

Hermione needed to decide exactly what it was that she wanted to do in life. It seemed that her interests were far ranging and she was proficient at everything. It just didn't seem like there was enough of a lifetime to complete it all.

She was leaning heavily on sciences, although she tended to like every subject equally. Maybe she would figure it out in the library today. She clomped on with her burdensome satchel, hoping Cormac wasn't actually in the library.

Since the first day of school he had followed her around to the point of scaring her sometimes. There wasn't much she could do about it though, as he had never tried to harm her, and everyone thought of him a pleasant young man. He was exasperating to Hermione though.

The library was one of her favorite hide-outs on campus though. It was massive with lots of study carols one could hide in if they wanted to be left in solitude. The chances of anyone bothering her there were next to none.

The salubrious air helped absolve her mind but she was appreciative of the enveloping warmth and heavy aroma of the library. She nodded to the desk clerk as she continued to the stairwell in the back. It was the fastest and least conspicuous of all of the methods to reaching the other floors.

The clerk was Neville Longbottom today. He sometimes worked weekends with the head librarian, Madam Pince, a rather shriveled and austere woman. Neville was taking some of the same science classes as Hermione. It seemed to the only thing he was good at, compared with the basic classes. He was inordinately bashful, which made people perceive him to be younger than he actually was.

Hermione guessed that his girlfriend, Luna Lovegood, found that attribute charming though. Luna was also in some of their classes as well. If Hermione found Neville a little peculiar, Luna was positively outlandish. But she got along amiably with both of them none the less.

The second floor was abandoned as best as Hermione could tell, though she was cautious to choose a secluded area where she could spread out her books as she pleased. The heady scent of thousands of antique books and magazines called to her more than any expensive perfume. She inhaled deeply. This was all she needed next to a unsullied leaf of paper, a decent writing pen, and homework.

She took off her weighty coat and draped it over the back of her chair before she got to work. It was effortless to lose her inhibitions among figures and formulas for a period. She could decipher problems like pianists played concertos for a living, sinuously and unpretentiously. Sometimes though, she allowed herself to be too engrossed and lost track of her surroundings.

"Oh, Miss Granger, I didn't expect to find you in here today." It took a moment for the superficial voice to register with the face in Hermione's view.

Cormac. He was always so formal, even though it was apparent he was undressing you with his eyes. His tone inflected that actually, he had meant to find her in the library sometime today.

"McLaggen," Hermione nodded, her smile was strained however.

"You are well I hope?"

"Of course," she agreed. "You?"

"Oh you know, studying," he rambled as he sat down across from her. Hermione's heart dropped. She had hoped this would not be an extended stay.

She glanced at her watch. It was much later than she had realized and her stomach was beginning to rumble. She placed a hand over it, hoping to stifle the noise some, so that Cormac would not have much more of a reason to hang around. He was still dithering on about details of which Hermione had no curiosity.

She did pay enough attention so as not to be beguiled into a date or something with him though, while nodding or shaking her head at appropriate intervals.

"You know, as fascinating as all of this is," Hermione interjected politely, "I just remembered that I have somewhere I'm supposed to be." Cormac appeared flabbergasted for a few moments but regained control promptly.

"Well let me accompany you," he offered, his hand brushing hers as she began to cram all of her belongings back into the same bag. Hermione had not actually lied to Ginny. Sooner or later, Cormac always found her, especially when she least wanted him to.

"No that's okay. I wouldn't want to inconvenience you or anything." Predictably he answered that it wasn't a problem and he would be happy to see her safely to wherever she was going.

"I'm fine," Hermione brushed off as she began heading for the front stairs instead of the elevator. At least she wouldn't be stuck in such a small space with him, should the modern convenience happen to break down. She didn't dare tell him where she was heading after she left the library.

"Hermione, if I may, I get the idea that you're playing hard to get," he grinned as he followed her. If Hermione thought that she could take the stairs two at a time and not break her neck, she would have. However, her satchel weighed her down considerably. "I like that," he added, sending unpleasant shivers down her spine.

"No, I'm not leading you on," Hermione confessed.

"Oh, an admission then?" He tried to grab her arm and whirl her around to face him, but Hermione jerked away at the last moment. She could see the bottom stairs and the door just beyond. She broke into a hobbled sprint across the lobby. The desk was surprisingly deserted.

"McLaggen, I'm not interested," she told him. If only Ginny were here to beat him up.

Outside, it was murky and she could see snow flurries wisp by every now and again. A gut feeling churning her stomach told her that being alone with Cormac was a bad idea, especially if he followed her outside. She wouldn't be able to fend him off for long should he attempt anything, which he probably would.

But Hermione didn't want to wait for anyone else to show up. She pressed through the doors and into the frosty darkness, Cormac on her heels.

"I think you are," he insisted, this time grabbing her sleeve. The front steps were a little icier than she had anticipated and she had to crash against Cormac or fall and risk breaking her skull.

"Is this man bothering you love?" a silken voice interrupted from the shadows. Out of absolute disclosure, Cormac stopped his assault as they both glanced to the side of the steps. Hermione could not believe her eyes, as the ostensibly arbitrary stranger from the pub the night before boldly swaggered up to them.

"Who are you then?" Cormac demanded, wrath flashing behind his eyes.

"I'm her boyfriend, mate," the stranger smiled as he pulled Hermione from Cormac's bewildered grasp and led her away. Cormac kept his location on the stairs, dumbfounded, watching after them.

As much as Hermione hoped this was just a happenstance, some part of her knew that it really wasn't. It might have just been the sudden pseudo heroic light he had been cast in, but he didn't seem nearly as abhorrent as the night before. In fact, his scent reminded her of the library with the leather and tobacco; the obvious aroma of a man, as compared to her male classmates that believed the more cologne the better.

"Thank you," she told him as she pulled out of his arms once they were out of sight of Cormac. He let go willingly, but kept pace with her. Hermione felt more ill at ease than before. For all of his eerie behavior, there was a confidence about him that was also alluring. The dining hall wasn't too far away and the current area was better lit as well as more populated.

"No worries." He lit a cigarette, holding it between his index and middle fingers on one hand, the other safely in his pocket. He wasn't trying to assault her either. Already that made him better than Cormac at least. "Another love interest scorned then?" he continued, taking a drag and studying her.

"My love life or lack thereof is none of your business," she chided him.

"Really? I think it becomes my business when I save your arse," he shrugged. He had a point; Hermione relented.

"Fine. He's just some boy that has fancied me for a while."

The man nodded, blowing his smoke away from them, "and do you fancy him?"

"I think that answer is obvious."

"Just had to be sure," he chuckled. "You know, the damsel in distress usually thanks her hero?" Where were her manners?

"Right. Thank you," Hermione told him again.

"I heard you the first time. I meant with a kiss." He turned a scruffy cheek in her direction, waiting, his smoke trailing between them like phantom fingers.

"No." Hermione drew the line at kisses. "I don't even know your name!"

"Problem solved. Scabior," he told her, sticking out the hand that had been in his pocket.

"Just Scabior?"

"Yeah." His hand seemed safe enough.

"Hermione," he introduced, taking her hand briefly and only with his fingers. There was no harm in him knowing her first name was there?

"Just Hermione then?" His accent wasn't cockney exactly, but it was clearly not polished.

"That should suffice."

"You're a strange bird," he shrugged.

"You're one to talk," she fired back. "You follow me out of the pub last night and now you just happen to be here to rescue me? Are you following me around now like him?" She gestured in the direction of Cormac.

"I was here about a job." Hermione raised an eyebrow and Scabior gave her a smirk.

"A job?" He clearly didn't look like the sort that would work anywhere near a university.

However, the front desk had been empty and he had been just nearby. His story could be valid.

But he was wearing some of the same clothes from the night before, especially that faded scarf. Someone needed to get him a new one, as his current one looked hardly adequate against the cold.

"Don't give me that look," he scolded her. "I've seen that look my whole life. Seems the old bird needs some help."

That story could also be true. Everyone on campus knew that Madame Pince was difficult to get along with, as there were never enough assistants because of her authoritarian behavior. Hermione wasn't convinced that Madam Pince would hire him.

The man looked like he had never read a book; much less knew how to behave around them.

"From the likes of you?" While Hermione was nice to mostly everyone, the difference in their class couldn't help but show itself.

"Seems so. She hired me alright." He shrugged and the move was so fluid, so casual that Hermione was envious; as if that shrug enhanced their differences.

Hermione sniffed. Madam Pince must have seen something that she didn't. Or maybe he was lying. She stole a sideways glance; she wouldn't put it past him. Unless there was some sort of higher up that let him in.

Scabior looked exactly like the sort of riff-raff that the Malfoys would associate with to do their dirty work. Lucius Malfoy was one of the prosperous benefactors behind her university, which meant that he pulled quite a bit of weight. His son, Draco, got extra attention during classes.

"Good for you," she told him, although she wasn't sure if she meant it or not. He smirked, although his eyes seemed different. Hermione tried to avoid looking too profoundly in them, lest she glimpse something she actually recognized. "Although you might be leading me on."

He let out of snort of mock surprise. "Why on earth would I want to go and do that? What could I possibly gain?"

"A lot of things," she snapped. "You would be wise to leave me be." A quick severing of ties was best. She picked up her pace as best she could. But things were never that simple.

"I would be wise to leave you be?" he repeated, unable to keep the laughter from his voice. "You," he said, catching up easily and taking her elbow to steady her hobbled pace, "who couldn't fight off one of her would-be suitors?" Hermione had to admit that he had a way of striking her buttons and showing her points of view she didn't want to see. He had her stopped in front of the dining room.

Hermione watched as he dropped some of the cinders from the cigarette, the embers sizzling against the damp surface of the concrete keeping her temporarily mesmerized, until he stubbed them out with a hard boot.

"What do you want from me?" she demanded.

"Who says I want anything?" His eyes, which she had been trying to evade, actually seemed to reflect a sort of innocence, as opposed to the several different emotions that seemed to continually flicker behind them.

"Because men who try this hard always want something."

"No one does anything for free anymore do they?" One of his slender hands reached for her hair, unbound around her shoulders. Hermione flinched, as a knee-jerk reaction.

Scabior didn't seem affected though. He continued reaching until he had a decent lock of the wild curls between his fingers. Every instinct in her body told Hermione to knee him in the groin and run off, but there was some sort of childlike inquisitiveness about him that drew her in as much as it repelled her.

"No, everything has a price," she muttered.

"Then how much would it cost me to get to know you?"

"More than you could afford."

"Are you sure?" Later, Hermione could think of no reason to rationalize her next move other than she felt like she owed him for saving her from one foul situation.

"No." Something akin to amusement flickered behind his gaze.

"Just a trial period then?" Hermione could not control the erratic hammering of her heart as he leaned closer, to study her in the weak light. Somehow this man set her on edge almost as much as he intrigued her.

"Fine."

"That wasn't so hard, was it love?" He pulled away and Hermione couldn't help but feel the degrees around her drop slightly. She shook her head. "Tomorrow," he said as he flicked the cigarette and started to head back the way they had just come. "Meet me outside the library."

"Maybe," Hermione confirmed in a small voice. She felt extremely drained and would have just gone back to her room if she hadn't been so hungry. Her cell phone had been buzzing the entire time but she hadn't noticed. After a few seconds of watching Scabior retreat into the night, she dug around in her pocket and pulled it out. Ginny had called several times.

_'ermione, where 'ave you been? I've been trying to reach you to see if you want to eat with me. Call me back as soon as you get this. I'm worried! _Shouted the voicemail. Hermione called her back as rapid as her freezing fingers would allow. Why hadn't she brought gloves before?

"Ginny?" she asked once someone picked up.

"ermione! I was really worried," the younger woman shouted. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine; I just got carried away studying you know."

"Exactly. Where are you now?"

"Outside the dining hall."

"Good. Get inside and get something to eat. I'm at our usual spot."

"Fine." They exchanged perfunctory goodbyes and Hermione followed her usual routine. Ginny was sitting in a corner near the front that Hermione had staked out her first year so that she could do homework and eat since she was despondent. Ginny was waiting for her, minus Harry or anyone else and Hermione couldn't help but feel relieved.

"ow did your study date go then?"

"Oh really well. Got a lot done."

"Really?" Hermione knew in an instant that she had fallen into one of Ginny's traps. "Because it seemed like Neville said it got a little physical at the end." Busted. Neville must have been nearby. Hermione had overlooked the fact that Ginny knew the clerk too. He probably called her and told her that something was wrong.

"Fine, so I wasn't actually going to meet Cormac McLaggen."

"You don't even like 'im it sounds like, as some boyfriend that I'd never 'eard of came to your rescue?" Double busted. If she mentioned Ron, then Hermione would be going for three.

"You caught me," Hermione sighed. Ginny raised an eyebrow keenly. "Okay, so it's like this," Hermione started as she spilled out the whole story. She should have known that she couldn't lie to Ginny. What had she been thinking?

"And now this creepy bloke works 'ere?"

"He's not that bad," Hermione found herself saying as she picked at her food. Her ravenous hunger before had vanished with the story. Ginny looked incredulous.

"ermione, you know I don't normally tell you what to do," Ginny started, her voice quiet. "But please be careful?"

"I will," she agreed. After that, talk turned to habitual topics even after the girls continued to their hall. Hermione tried to push Scabior as far from her mind as possible, and it worked until she was ready for bed. Her mind continued to rotate him through her thoughts as she tried to get a good night's rest, though she only succeeded in spending most of the night tossing and turning.

* * *

**Author's Note: **A penny for your thoughts?


	4. Chapter 4: Just Call Me Lucifer

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the like two-year delay on this? I've had about half the file ready on a flash drive, but no time to finish it. Anyway, here is the next part.

I really appreciate all the support on this story and hope to never disappoint you in the future. 10 points to those who can tell me where the chapter title comes from, as I feel it accurately describes the character. This will probably be the last chapter from Scabior's point of view for a while, as it will go back to Hermione's feelings.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Harry Potter, the title of the story, or the title of the chapter.

* * *

Jar of Hearts

Chapter Four: 'Just Call Me Lucifer'

Scabior

Scabior's "to-do" list grew longer as he took a long and thoughtful drag on his almost-spent fag.

First, he needed to avoid the landlady until he could pay her what was proper owed. He had to conserve enough to eat and smoke on.

Second, Scabior needed to go to the Devil's office for a little chat both about the contract and about vocation.

Third, he needed to learn more about his quarry.

Fourth, Scabior had to figure out how best to entice her. She was not going to be easy in any sense of the word. He was going to have to pull out all stops to have a chance.

Most mornings it only consisted of circumvent the landlady and find a way to occupy his time in a manner he approved of.

He dropped the ashes onto an old tea saucer nearby, stubbing out the end of the fag quickly before he shrugged into his signature worn leather coat and discolored scarf.

The back stairwell would be the fastest way of avoiding the other tenants as well as the owner, Scabior processed as he locked his beaten door behind him. The hall light was malfunctioning again, blinking on and off at a steady rhythm.

Scabior ignored it as he gripped the cold metal of the handrail and began his descent. He could hear the usual shouting of the flat just below him mixing with the sounds of daytime television. He thought he could hear rough sex in another flat. He smirked.

Ah, the engaging sounds of life continuing at its normal pace. He didn't actually know any of his neighbors personally. It was best that way.

The back door had once had a lock, until one of the tenants busted it one night. Scabior merely had to lean on the door to get it open as he embraced the familiar city air, tumbling out into the late morning.

He didn't find it too coincidental that the girl happened to attend the same college the Devil helped oversee. In fact, if he recalled correctly all of his other victims had been attending this university. It was convenient that way.

It was quite a walk to the university from his flat, but he wanted to avoid public transportation. All that enclosed space with nattering strangers? No thanks. He couldn't be buggered with it.

Instead it would be just a nice walk through the surrounding neighborhood. Good exercise and all that health rubbish. He hunched his shoulders as he pushed his hands further into his deep pockets, grubby fingernails touching the seams.

The Devil wouldn't mind if he dropped in. In fact, he usually checked up on Scabior every so often, just like any good businessman. This was quite an investment of his time after all.

To the dismay of many onlookers, Scabior swaggered right through one of the main gates. While the university had to allow students from certain social backgrounds, they were still looked down upon.

_Good thing I'm not a student then, _he thought as he headed toward the Devil's office, _or else I would have to teach them a lesson about social backgrounds_. He ignored all glances or comments coming his way.

In administration, Scabior was a regular sight. The older, gray-haired woman at the desk simply waved him through as she chewed the fat to someone on a private call. Scabior wasn't sure if she was a new receptionist or the same one. What did it matter? They all looked alike.

Scabior glanced briefly at the engraved gold nameplate on the door, bearing the name Lucius Malfoy, before he barged in.

The Devil was also in the middle of a phone call, gesturing to Scabior to take a seat on one of the polished, burgundy leather chairs. Scabior preferred standing. He busied himself with walking around the office, touching various baubles placed there to make the space look normal.

"Yes, I will see you and Draco later darling," the Devil cooed to presumably his wife, before setting the phone gently in the cradle. It was difficult to think of the Devil as a family man for a second. Scabior only knew him as his contract holder and task manager. He supposed the Devil needed some type of cover to continue his work on earth.

The Devil was a handsome bloke though, Scabior supposed, with his long, pale blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He certainly had a commanding presence in a room.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" the Devil asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Well, I finally found her," Scabior told him.

"Excellent. Which one is she again?" Scabior knew the Devil probably knew what girl was left. He needed confirmation aloud though

"Intelligence."

"Ah, the last ingredient. Where is she?"

"On this campus."

"Even better. Her name?"

"Don't know that yet, sir."

"Easy enough to find out. I believe my son knows someone who might fit the description. Give me just a moment." The Devil dialed out on the phone again. Scabior noted the cherry red color was quite fitting for the Devil's actual occupation.

"Yes, Draco, I'm in need of something. Can you stop by my office for a quick chat? I need to know about one of your classmates." Scabior figured he would smoke as he waited, retrieving his pack from the tight confines of his pocket. "I won't tolerate that," the Devil told him austerely.

"Won't tolerate what?" Scabior asked, "I was only gonna have a quick fag."

"Not in my office you won't. I have to entertain all sorts of campus dignitaries here and I won't have it smelling like a pub."

"Fine then, I'll take me business outside for a few minutes," Scabior complied. The cigarettes kept him calm, especially when he was so excited in getting a step closer to his prey.

X

Draco Malfoy

Draco excused himself from his small circle of friends to attend to his father's request. Generally, what his father wanted, he got.

Draco suspected what his father actually did for a living, besides managing trivial University affairs. His father's work always seemed to increase around end of term, when students were so busy they would "Sell their soul for this term paper to be finished."

Your father being the infamous Devil would be hard to ignore. He would have to be as thick as Crabbe or Goyle not to notice the peculiarities that surrounded his so-called father figure.

He wasn't sure how DNA worked, or exactly how he and his father were related. Or more likely, how to use his father's power to his advantage. He hardly noticed the familiar walk over to his father's office, save for one thing.

Draco did notice Hermione Granger, laden with books as usual, headed towards the library. _Most likely to figure out how to upstage us in class next time I presume, _Draco thought acrimoniously.

"Yes father?" he asked, sticking his blond head around the door. There was one of his father's usual characters, Scabior something or another, sitting in one of the armchairs.

Draco really didn't want to sit down next to him. Though Draco was used to the sight of less-than-honorable people in his father's office, something about Scabior set his on edge. There was something horribly wrong with his eyes… He opted to stand beside his father's desk instead.

"Ah Draco, there you are. We were just discussing one of your little classmates. A very intelligent girl, as I recall?"

"You must mean know-it-all Granger."

"Yes, H-something, isn't it?"

"Hermione, like the character from that Shakespeare play _The Winter's Tale_." His literature class had just finished a section on the famous playwright, the material still fresh in his mind.

"And the know-it-all title?"

"Courtesy of our Chemistry professor, Severus Snape." He knew his father would know Snape well, as the dark clothed, sour man sometimes had dinner at their home. He was, by far, Draco's favourite professor, especially with his personal nickname for grade-grubbing Granger as 'Insufferable know-it-all.'

"Mm, dear Severus," his father smiled. Draco wasn't sure but he thought he glanced more than just blasé familiarity in his father's brief expression. He tried to ignore it. "You have been most helpful Draco." Draco knew a dismissal when he heard one.

"Wait, I know where Granger's headed this afternoon."

"Oh really?" His father raised an eyebrow, a sign of irritation.

"Yes. She's headed to the library, because she has almost no friends, save the horrid Weasley clan that has infiltrated and famous Potter."

"Oh yes, Potter. The school's current celebrity, because he was in that tragic murder sometime ago wasn't he?"

Draco knew his father was just putting on a show for his guest. He knew damn well Potter's story, as Draco suspected his father had some hand in it. Their guest was wisely silent. "Thank you Draco. You have been most helpful again. I don't want to keep you from your friends."

"Of course." His father told him that they would see each other at home later, as Draco excused himself from the office.

Usually, Draco did not mind his family name typically being associated with evil. However, as he headed back to the company of his friends, Draco got the most awful feeling about the involvement of the Granger girl with scary-eyes Scabior.

X

Scabior

"Well then, I suppose it would be easiest to find you a job somewhere on campus," the Devil told him, grabbing for the red phone again.

"Not necessary sir," Scabior began, not wanting to conform to the less than stellar world of academia. "I'll do it my way."

"Yes, need I remind you that your way has taken years? This is will be a steady job with steady income, so that you can fix yourself up to woo her."

"Fix myself up?" Scabior rose from his chair and the Devil realized he might have made a mistake.

"Perhaps I went too far then? Maybe a new scarf or something?"

"Maybe then. Where would this job be?" Scabior asked, considering the money. He did need it, if only to keep the landlady from asking too many questions.

"Since she seems to spend plenty of time in the library, maybe a job there? Madam Pince always needs assistants." Scabior laughed for close to ten minutes before he realized the Devil was serious.

"Me, in a library? You're barking, you are," Scabior told him.

"You haven't met Madam Pince yet."

"Fine, I'll give it a try," Scabior shrugged. "But if it doesn't work, then I'll do it my way."

"Fair enough. I would say we have a deal, but we already have one, don't we?" The Devil made another phone call and provided Scabior with directions to the library.

"Just be your charming self. Madam Pince isn't picky. And if she is, I'll grease the wheels."

"Your money." Scabior smoked on his way to the library, deliberately wasting time. He figured the Devil had already called the librarian again, to give her some incentive to hire him. He wasn't worried.

When he finally made it into the woman's office, he realized why the Devil had not been kidding about her being desperate. She was probably older than God and twice as mean. Luckily, Scabior was heartless, or her attitude would sting.

"You're hired," she told him grudgingly. "Come back in the morning and I'll show you how things work."

"Fair enough," he shrugged as he headed outside. It was time for another fag, to celebrate this time. He stood off to the shadows, but didn't have time to light up when fate threw Hermione his way again. The kid hanging on her was easy enough to get rid of this time, but Scabior wondered if he was going to have to 'convince' his competition to leave her alone.

During his and Hermione's exchange, he noted that she was careful but not completely closed off. She did give him her name, for a start. Good thing this wasn't a fairy tale or he would have some power over her already. Or perhaps she was the one with the power.

Her heady perfume dragged him in. Up close, she smelled twice as wonderful without the pub atmosphere this time. Moreover, her hair! He knew how difficult natural waves could be to discipline, his own hair loosely bound but never completely tamed. He had not been able to control his wayward fingers as they stroked a curled tendril.

He knew, somewhere inside of his empty cavern, that she would show up at the library the next day. As much as she was repelled, she was also curious. They always were.

X


	5. Chapter 5: Stained Glass Eyes

**Author's Note: **Sorry for the nearly yearlong wait on this chapter too! I know what I want to happen, it's just not getting distracted enough to sit down and write : )

Anywho, hope this update finds you all well and if you are still interested that is : ) Thank you, so, so much for all the support thus far on this story! I really appreciate it!

Hope no one is too OOC and nothing is amiss. If anything is, please inform me so I can correct.

**Disclaimer: **Yeah, don't own and such.

* * *

Jar of Hearts

Chapter 5: Stained Glass Eyes

Hermione

Hermione paced her dorm room once more, trying to decide if she was going to do more than just contemplate the idea of meeting her rescuer as he had requested. _I can't believe what I'm even considering, _she thought, sliding into her jacket for the third time in ten minutes.

Unfortunately, Ginny had left her a quick note about meeting her brothers for lunch. Hermione didn't even have the younger voice of wisdom to endeavor to attempt to talk her out of the library engagement. She shrugged out of the onerous coat once more, sitting down with a huff on the edge of her neatly made bed.

What was it about that man? Everything about him flummoxed Hermione, and yet, she was still taking into consideration meeting him, notwithstanding the unthinkable risks. His eyes were so enthralling …she had been absolutely bewitched the night before.

_There will be other people around, _the less rational part of her brain enticed, _and he was able to deal with Cormac. You're a university student for goodness sakes! Take a walk on the rowdy side! You're expected to do these things. _Never mind the campus crime statistics running simultaneously through her brain.

Hermione stood up, shrugging back into the coat. She fluffed her hair from the collar, making a half-hearted attempt to restrain it with a red hair tie. For courage, she sprayed a light mist of the vanilla perfume her mother had given her as a going away present, to her wrists and neck. It had seen her through plenty of finals with merit.

However, the other night at the pub had been an exception that Hermione was ready to forget. She had thought it would make a good impression on Ginny's brother, but if he noticed, he hadn't cared. _All the more reason not to date him, _she reasoned.

Hermione grabbed her satchel just in case the whole encounter should prove sour then she would at the very least have something to keep her mind busy. Today, with the sun shining, it was only one degree warmer than the night she had been caught in the dark with Scabior. Spring was on its way.

Despite being an early Sunday afternoon, the campus was relatively quiet. She felt the comforting weight of the mobile phone in her pocket as she neared the building. Scabior wasn't lurking about outside, and Hermione discovered she wasn't sure whether she was elated or disappointed.

Of course, Scabior had not specified a particular time for their supposed meeting.

It was much too bitter to remain outside, however, so Hermione stepped inside her sanctuary. Round-faced Neville greeted her from behind the desk, an obvious indication that Madam Pince was nowhere to be found.

"Hullo Hermione," he called out from the desk.

"Hello Neville. I didn't expect to see you here today." Sundays were quiet on the campus, with those who attended the morning Mass gone and the other non-denominational or uncaring students working hard to complete projects before eight am Monday morning, they had put off in favor of pub hopping or clubbing. Things that Hermione rarely wasted her time on, with the exception of Friday.

Neville flushed unexpectedly with color. "Well, Madam Pince is preparing a new worker and needed me to watch the desk."

"Oh, so I see." A new worker? Alarms started ringing in Hermione's head. No…

Neville leaned in, his cheery voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I have so much Chem homework; I really wanted to tell her 'no.' Snape's class is so difficult." His voice dropped a little lower, so that Hermione scarcely understood him. He used a hand to shield the side of his mouth, lest someone see the words he was about to say either. "And to be 'onest, the new guy doesn't seem… reputable."

Hermione added flashing lights to the warning bells in her head. "What do you mean Neville?"

"He looks like a bit of a rough." Neville glanced around them to be sure that Madam Pince had not suddenly materialized behind him. "A tosser."

"Red scarf?" asked Hermione. Neville nodded. "Wild, tangled hair? Plaid pants? Some sort of odd jacket and gloves? Jarring eyes?" Neville had gone quite pale as he continued nodding.

"You forgot to mention my charming personality, love," a rough but chillingly familiar voice behind her broke in. Hermione spun wildly around, wondering how exactly Scabior had managed to sneak up on her. His well-worn, ex-military combat boots should have made some sound upon the tile, unless he walked with feline precision. Poor Neville had been trying to warn her.

Scabior's hand rested on Hermione's shoulder for a moment, before Madam Pince appeared to escort him to her office for further instruction.

"Hermione," started Neville, "may I ask what brings you to the library today?"

"I was meeting someone," she confessed, "him actually." She nodded in the direction of Madam Pince's office, where Scabior had just disappeared. If it was possible, Neville's already pasty complexion skin grew one shade lighter.

"I saw him yesterday, you know."

"Yeah, Ginny told me."

"I'm glad he stopped McLaggen from hurting you."

"Me too," she agreed. "If that's the only thing."

"Hermione."

"Hm?"

"Please be careful." She wondered if she was going to hear some reworking of that phrase from the whole campus eventually.

"I will. I do not think much will come of my meeting him today." Though she said the words, Hermione didn't feel the conviction behind them. "Now, I have a few spare moments. I'll help you with Chemistry." She didn't ask Neville if he wanted help or not; she only jumped in.

Eventually, Scabior emerged from the office, looking only a little worse for wear after spending about an hour with Madam Pince. How he even spent an hour with the librarian, Hermione wasn't sure. She couldn't spent five minutes with the woman and not become frustrated.

"Ready, love?" Scabior asked, leaning over Hermione's shoulder and whispering in her ear, the hot air tickling the shell.

"Yes, in a moment," she told him. She addressed Neville, "If you require any more assistance, just let me know through the usual channels." She patted his doughy hand and turned to leave with Scabior.

They walked in silence for a little while, the air peaceful and quiet as they headed for the campus coffee shop. The sun had disappeared and the temperature had seemed to drop. Hermione let out a trembling breath of relief that they were going to stay in a public place.

"Cold, gorgeous?" he asked her, noting the white cloud of breath.

"Yes. Weather only for polar bears." He chuckled, drawing a cigarette and lighter from the breast pocket of his worn jacket.

"Fag?"

"No, those are horrid! Ruin your teeth, decimate your lungs, cause cancer-"

"Keep your lungs warm," he broke in.

"Temporarily. Heated tar and goodness knows what else!"

"You tellin' me, that you have no vices then?" He turned those spooky eyes on her.

"I am not claiming to be above vices. Smoking," she started, pulling the cancer stick from his lip and stomping it out with the heel of her boot, "is atrocious and ruins lives." Staring at the remains of the crushed fag on the concrete sidewalk, Hermione realized she might have made a fatal mistake acting on impulse.

She had completely forgotten that he was a stranger and possibly dangerous, and she had just crushed his fag on the sidewalk. Slowly, she raised her eyes to meet his, only to see that no real emotion seemed to lurk there. He did not seem truly upset by her rash action, or truly amused.

That reaction frightened her most of all.

"No smoking then," he agreed, as they continued their leisurely pace. "But you never told me your vice."

"Well…" She tried to think of something that would really qualify. Was she genuinely trying to impress this man? "I speak out of turn, more often than not." It sounded childish, even schoolgirl to her own ears.

"That's hardly a sin."

"Well sorry for not leading a life of debauchery," she countered, the briefest smile pulling at her lips. "The worst toxin I willingly ingest is coffee."

"Alright love, no need to get your knickers in a twist there. Surely, you must have done something bad."

"I snuck out once."

"Really. Here I was, thinkin' you were a saint," he teased. "What for?"

"A concert," Hermione told him proudly, as they entered the shop. Rich coffee and exotic teas tickled and tantalized her senses. They queued up behind a group of giggling girls who were all holding magazines with the latest pop star on the front in color gloss.

"Oh?" His eyebrows rose slightly. "Anyone I would know?"

"Depends."

"Well, let's see. Adam Ant? Sex Pistols cover band. Something satanic and sacrificial?" They moved up a few steps.

"Well, not exactly…"

"Not exactly? What other sort of music is worth sneaking out for then?"

"There is other music…"

"Please, love, tell me it was at least something with a parental guidance label."

"No."

"No?"

Hermione said primly, "It was a very educational-"

"Educational?" He tasted the word out on his tongue.

"Yes, educational performance of Gregorian chants." She thought Scabior was going to burst a lung attempting to contain his laughter.

"Gregorian chants?"

"Yes." He wiped at his eyes as they stepped up another spot in line. "Oh, beautiful, you are a riot." Hermione was aware of the majority of the café staring at them. "So tell me, why did you have to sneak out?"

Her cheeks were stained with red color, partially from Scabior's teasing and partially because she was defending her tastes from someone who did not seem to understand.

"Well, if you are going to act in that manner, perhaps I won't tell you."

"Sorry gorgeous, tell me, why did you have to sneak out, for…what again? Greg-"

"Gregorian Chants," she finished for him, "and it was…" A tad embarrassing, is what it was. They moved up again. "Well, my aunt's wedding was the next day and my parents were afraid I would be tired." For the love of perfect grades as she telling this man this secret?

"I didn't realize chants could be so _stimulating_," Scabior teased. Hermione glanced at his face, seeing his smirk, and had to look away to hide her own.

"Intellectually, yes."

"You mean to tell me, love, that you've never been to a proper concert?"

"No, and could you address me by my name? Why do you always use a pet name of some type?"

"What? You mean, by Hermione?"

"Yes."

"Why that name?"

"What do you mean 'that' name?"

"Hermione."

"My parents liked the name. Why just Scabior?" she asked.

"Why not? One-word names have more respect." They finally reached the counter, giving the harried barista their orders. Scabior paid, despite Hermione's objections.

"I can pay for my own drink," she told him sternly as they waited at the end of the counter, other patrons bustling into them with their padded winter coats.

"I know. But I'm paying." She went to object again, but he countered all of her feminist protests, winning her over with "but I walked you over here in this now glacial weather." Seeing how she wasn't going to change his mind, Hermione resumed their earlier topic.

"Do you have a first name? Or is Scabior your first name?"

"Scabior is my first name, Hermione." He put emphasis on her name, where he would have said beautiful, gorgeous, or love. "Moran is my father's name. I dropped it." They found a table for two near the rear of the shop, away from the door. "I will have to take you out one night. To a proper show."

The thought thrilled and terrified Hermione. Going to a concert, with an actual band and instruments, always seemed like something for other people.

"I'm not sure. They can be quite dangerous."

"Therein the fun," Scabior told her before taking a long pull on the piping hot coffee. She supposed a hot drink was nothing compared to a cigarette. She was still allowing hers to cool, the lip of the lid popped open. "Crowd surfing, mosh pit, a fight. Essential parts of a night out in a proper pub show."

Hermione couldn't imagine letting complete strangers lift her above a crowd, putting her absolute faith in a moving body with many arms, to hold her up.

"And a pint, you've got to have a pint of the house brew, even if it tastes like piss."

"I don't drink."

"Lemme guess, health nut reasons? Love," he said, forgetting her earlier request, "a bit of alcohol never hurt anyone." She watched his eyes as he spoke. Whatever he was saying, with whatever emotion, it always seemed genuine but somehow reflective – as if it were only what she wanted to see there. But, that couldn't be right.

Hermione had listened to recounts of all the shows Ginny had been to with friends or her brothers. She had always wondered what it would be like to abandon her studies for the night and head off to the pub, like people her age did on a regular basis. She was supposed to be the new, more dangerous Hermione.

"I could take you to one Friday," Scabior told her. "You can bring a mate or two if you want."

"Perhaps, but on one condition."

"There is no simplicity with you, is there?"

"Every action has an equal and opposite reaction."

"What is that from? A movie?" Confusion crossed his rugged features.

"Newton's three laws of physics."

"Right."

"If I go to a show with you, then you must come to something more intellectually stimulating with me."

"There you go again with that intellectual tosh," Scabior smirked at her. "Not everything can be learned from a book." He did have a point. "Even your precious Newton knew that, what with that apple knocking him on the noggin."

"I thought you didn't know Newton."

"You jogged my memory."

Despite herself, Hermione laughed. "So, do we have a deal?"

"Alright, love." They sipped at their coffee and Scabior picked Hermione's brain for advice on working in the library. The café was beginning to clear out. Hermione glanced at her mobile, to see that it was much later in the afternoon than she had thought.

"Something the matter?" questioned Scabior, as she stood up and began to shoulder her rucksack.

"I need to be going," Hermione told him, "classes to prepare for tomorrow." She tried to fluff her thick hair out from where it had been trapped in her coat and beneath her shoulder strap.

"Not sneakin' away from me to go see some more chants are you?" His eyes seemed to contain real enough mirth, as he gazed at her with hooded eyes and a languid expression.

Hermione tried not to snort. "No. I've got to check in on my roommate and be sure all my out-of-class work is completed." It was already, she knew.

Mostly, she needed time to collect her thoughts and recap with Ginny.

"Can I have your mobile number?" It was an innocent and practical enough question. Hermione could not think of a single convincing reason why he could not have it.

"Yes." She wrote the note on a spare bit of paper.

"Thanks, love." He folded the paper and jammed it into his breast pocket.

"You don't have a mobile?"

"Charging, at home. Give me your pen for a mo." Reluctantly, Hermione handed him her favorite blue ink pen, gasping as he took her hand too. "This is my mobile. Don't go giving it to all your friends," he winked.

His hands were rough, Hermione doubting that he used moisturizer, but pleasant and expectedly manly. The pen dug into her skin as he wrote the digits across her palm, with looping strokes.

"Your handwriting…"

"Yes?" He grinned up at her from his seat. "One of the few things I passed."

"It's beautiful, actually."

"Actually? What were you expectin'? Chicken scratch?" Hermione didn't answer, because she had been expecting something of the sort. "Caveman letters?" He held her hand, gently stroking the skin with the pad of his thumb. Color kissed her cheeks.

"Not exactly…"

"Everyone does," he shrugged, keeping hold of her hand. He brought her fingers to his mouth, planting a very gentle kiss on the knuckles, the scruff of his stubble scratching and tickling the warm flesh. "Friday, Hermione. Meet me at the library, with your mate, around six."

"O-oh, alright." She would write it into her day planner later. They exchanged goodbyes and Hermione set off into the frigid air again, programming Scabior's number into her phone, before it was lost. She realized, once she was back at her dorm room, he had kept her pen.

X

* * *

**Author's End Note/References: **

**1.) **Chapter title is reference to a Pierce the Veil song (which you need to go to youtube and find as soon as possible as it reminds me of their relationship in some way).

**2.) **Adam Ant is another reference, for those of you who have not hopped over to youtube yet – you must see Nick Moran as Adam Ant in the short Ant Muzak (2002), because it is priceless!

**3). **And, since no one seems to be sure whether Scabior is his first name or last (or at least last time I checked), I'm going to make it his first and use Moran (a fairly common surname).

**4). **Gregorian Chants. Weirdly, I can see Hermione sneaking out to something like that. At least, this version of her.

Another chapter from only Hermione's point of view. Next chapter will have other character perspectives.


End file.
